Page 3 of Christmas with the Mafia
Two
NICO
The lightsof New York blink outside my window, reminding me I’m always more comfortable with darkness. It hides the realities of a cruel world and enables me to believe I am not a huge part of that.
I swirl the whiskey in the crystal tumbler as I gaze out on the city, familiar landmarks pinpointing how my millions have enabled me to afford to live among them.
This will be interminable, and I wish more than anything I had declined my own offer of a night sucking up to the elite of New York, while pretending I love this shit when I don’t. It will be especially challenging tonight because a lot is riding on the night being a success.
Tonight, I will be leaving with my future wife, and it’s ironic that I probably haven’t met her yet.
Perhaps that is why my heart is filled with lead and my movements slow. The ball and chain snaps into place with each hour that ticks past. It’s a distraction, and all I can think about because my sand timer is filtering the last remaining grains of sand to join the rest I’ve wasted below.
Tomorrow is my birthday. December the twenty-third. I will turn thirty, and my father’s warning rings in my ears.
“The moment the clock strikes twelve on your thirtieth birthday, you will be engaged. You will banish the playboy you were and step up and become responsible. A father, a husband and the CEO of our family.”
My father’s somber expression haunts my living nightmare, and I knock back the alcohol to numb the pain. I don’t have a choice; in fact, who I marry is my final one because if I turn up to Christmas alone, my future wife will have a place laid beside me and she will be of my father’s choosing.
I am aware of the chosen one too. His friend Vito’s daughter, Desiree Bendetti. A sullen, crazy bitch with eyes that cut glass. She is arrogant, supercilious and entitled and believes it is her right to be my chosen one. She is probably sharpening her claws as I drown my sorrows, preparing to sink them into me as she seizes what she believes is rightly hers.
Not if I have anything to do with that. Tonight, I willnotleave the gala alone. Whoever measures up to the job will be leaving with me, either willingly or unwillingly; it’s all the same to me.
“Boss.”
A discreet cough behind me alerts me to Trent, who has been standing there for probably six minutes already. I saw him enter courtesy of his reflection in the window. I am always on my guard, and yet I chose to ignore him because I’m wallowing in misery and grasping the last shards of solitude I will enjoy.
“You are expected in ten minutes.”
He reminds me of my responsibility. As the host of the Diamond gala, it is my duty to arrive on time along with an easy smile plastered on my face. That easy smile is an oxymoron in my case because since when was smiling easy?
I don’t smile—ever. There is nothing I want to smile about. Life is full of events with no humor in them, and nothing is funny about my life, anyway.
With a sigh, I drown my misery with alcohol and straighten my black silk tie against my black silk shirt, my tailored-made black jacket resting against the concealed weapon I never travel without. I almost wish I could pull on the black shades to cover my disinterest, but then I would only look more like a prick than I do already.
I dress to make a statement, and that is,don’t fuck with me, unless I decide to channel my aggression in a more self-rewarding way with one of the hundreds of women who are lining up to fall on my dick. Money and youth act as a powerful aphrodisiac, and as I am also one of the wealthiest men in Manhattan, it sure beats the sugar daddies to the back of the line of interest.
I nod to Trent.
“Are we set?”
A hint of sympathy flickers in his eyes because he is fully aware of the sense of occasion. He may be my consigliere, but he is also my best friend and has borne the brunt of my anger with the entire situation.
“The car is waiting, and security is tight.”
He states the fucking obvious because my business runs on precision to detail, which is probably why I am still breathing. I possess many enemies, and rightly so. One stray bullet aimed from a nearby window could end my miseryand would almost be welcome. To exit this world and abandon the shit that accompanies it would be a relief; however, I’m not ready to die just yet because when I am Don, I get to write my own rule book.
My marriage is the key to my jail and the liberator of my dreams because a wife may not be so bad after all. I would banish her to the mansion in the Hamptons while I live in my penthouse. Wheel her out for family occasions while I get my kicks elsewhere. It may work, itmustwork and with my resolve set in place, I nod toward the private elevator.
“I’m ready.”
Like everything I do in life, my short drive to the Diamond hotel is a statement of power. I travel in a convoy of three black cars crammed full of my security detail. Trent sits beside the driver of my car, keeping a watchful eye out for danger, and the rest of my security guards shield me from it.
My phone is lit like a freaking Christmas tree. It always is, and yet I glance at none of them, instead transferring my attention to the view outside.
New York is a cruel mistress to manage. The streets are razor sharp and you could cut yourself badly if you fell. In the shadows, predatory eyes watch and wait for an opportunity to pass by. Wealth resides alongside poverty, crime against acts of humanity. The gala tonight is a fine example of that. Outwardly charitable with millions raised in one evening from fine dining and company. Itoffers the most coveted of Christmas invitations because if you receive one, you are a person of interest.
Paparazzi could live the entire year on a well-caught photograph from this evening alone.
